Gunpowder Plot
by Tehri
Summary: America wants to know more about the reason for the festivities on the fifth of November. England gladly obliges and tells him a little "story".


Alfred drummed his fingers against the surface of the table, every now and then glancing curiously at a certain man who sat a few chairs away. Arthur looked surprisingly relaxed, even a bit gleeful. And it made Alfred extremely nervous. He was definitely not used to seeing his old mentor this way. And it seemed that he was not the only one who had noticed; Matthew was throwing nervous glances at Arthur every now and then, Francis was frowning in a way that was definitely not like him, and Antonio was hiding under the table. Even Feliciano had noticed, and he was looking more nervous than usual. To have Arthur, the proper gentleman, looking so gleeful was simply scary.

Once the meeting finally ended, Alfred walked up to the older nation and tapped his shoulder.

"Uhm... England, can I talk to you a bit?"

Arthur gave him a beaming smile and nodded.

"Of course, lad," he said. "What did you want to talk to me about, hm?"

Alfred shivered, for the tenth time that hour. That smile was just... _wrong_. It was _not_ something that belonged there; it ruined the entire image of what Arthur was. But it seemed that the Englishman thought it entirely natural.

"Look, it's... Uhm... How do I say this...?" _Without pissing you off..._ ? "I just... Well, I noticed that you were... Ah... You were..."

"... I was _what_, America? Just say it already, I don't have all the time in the world."

Alfred was elegantly saved from having to say anything about it by Francis, who calmly patted Arthur's shoulder and shook his head.

"He was going to ask why you were smiling through the entire meeting, _Angleterre_, since it is unusual for you to do so," said the Frenchman with a dramatic sigh. "I do believe that I know why, but perhaps it would be better if you told him."

Arthur merely laughed and waved one hand in the air, as if swatting at the words.

"Oh, that," he chuckled. "That was nothing. I'm in a good mood, that's all. It's the fifth of November tomorrow!"

At that, Francis visibly paled and stared at his old rival with shock in his blue eyes.

"_Mon dieu_," he whispered. "_Merde_... I forgot..." The shock seemed to fade, and he began to glare instead. "I do sincerely hope that you won't purchase _gunpowder_ again this year, _Angleterre_. I don't care how amazing it looked; you are _not_ blowing something up tomorrow!"

The Englishman glanced around, a mischievous smirk creeping up on his face. Alfred briefly considered if the window was a good way out of the building, because he didn't want to step any closer to his old mentor right at this very moment...

"Ah, no, no gunpowder," he replied. "No gunpowder. But my brothers will be there tomorrow, and they wanted something special, so I spoke to Hong Kong, and he gave me some of his best fireworks." A grin, one that was painfully similar to the one that was always plastered on Alfred's face, worked its way to Arthur's lips. "Also, my brothers will be providing the drinks. I'm counting on a wonderful evening."

Francis groaned loudly and covered his eyes. Arthur patted his shoulder and left the room with a cheery wave. And Alfred could only stare.

"... _Gunpowder_?!"

The word slipped from his lips without his permission, and Francis turned the glare at him.

"_Oui_, _l'Amérique_," he growled. "Gunpowder. Our dear _Angleterre_ loves the fifth of November, for a reason that I can only call _twisted_. Outwardly, he celebrates a failed attempt at an assassination of a king. Inwardly, he celebrates the death of a man." Once again, the Frenchman covered his eyes and began to mutter some sort of a verse, one that Alfred found rather familiar.

"_Remember, remember the fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and Plot. I see no reason why the Gunpowder Treason should ever be forgot_..."

The American ransacked his memory a few times, slowly beginning to recall where he had heard that rhyme. Arthur had recited it to him a few times in the past...

"Pope's Day," he muttered. "Washington forbade it after the Revolution. He said that we should not celebrate something that was so... anti-Catholic and pro-British..." He frowned slightly. "Arthur told me that it was a small celebration for something in his past... Nothing big, nothing I needed to worry about..."

Francis nodded grimly.

"I'll go with you," he muttered. "You need to talk to him about this. He means no harm to anyone today, but is it not time that you actually get to know what the celebration is _really_ about?"

---

When they found Arthur again, he was sitting in his room with a cup of tea in his hand and a good book in his lap. It would've been a very peaceful sight, if it wasn't for that positively gleeful smirk, and it took Alfred a few moments to decide whether he should really go in and speak to his old mentor or not. But once France actually pushed him into the room, he had no opportunity to think it over.

"Ah, America." Arthur looked up, the smirk widening into a warm smile. "I would remind you to knock, but I suppose that it is fairly pointless now, is it not?" He closed the book and placed it on the table next to him. "Now, what can I do for you?"

Alfred glanced quickly over his shoulder at Francis, who now entered the room as well, crossing his arms.

"Ah," mumbled Alfred. "Well... Tomorrow is Pope's Day, isn't it...? I just... Well, I got curious, and..."

"Tell him what you celebrate, _mon ami_," said Francis, a frown creeping to his face as he eyed the Englishman calmly. "Why don't you tell him about Guy Fawkes?"

Arthur blinked and tilted his head, watching the American curiously for a moment before he started to chuckle heartily.

"Ah, that's right," he said, still chuckling. "I never did tell you what it was about, did I? Oh, do sit down, both of you. France knows the story already, but I have no doubt that he wouldn't want to waste a perfect moment to call me childish..."

He leaned back, calmly eyeing them both; Alfred thought that he still saw that mischievous twinkle in the older man's eye.

"Now then," started Arthur. "Guy Fawkes, it was... Well, how should I start? He was part of a group of religious conspirators, plotting to assassinate King James I." A smile again. "They planned on blowing up the Houses of Parliament, while everyone was inside. It was a most amusing plot, and it could have been done if the cellars had not been searched. Some of the poor fools decided to warn a man to go there, and naturally the letter was shown to the king." Arthur sighed quietly and shook his head. "So much time put into it, and they had to make a man suspicious. Poor fools."

"Don't leave anything out, _Angleterre_," muttered Francis bitterly. "Tell him the _whole_ story. You need to explain why you admire their attempt."

Arthur laughed again and waved his hand dismissively.

"Yes, yes, don't worry," he said. "I won't leave that part out." He looked at Alfred again, a disturbing calm following the laughter. "You see, America... James I of England was also James VI of Scotland. I was not too ecstatic about having my brother's king ruling my country as well, but I had little say in the matter at the time. They contacted him when Elizabeth was dying..." For a moment, his eyes seemed to lose focus. "Ah, I'm sorry... A-anyway... They had a secret correspondence with him, and he was proclaimed king without any protests. I kept quiet as well, but when his religious issues came up and the Catholics reacted... Well, I did not want to waste more time."

Arthur's emerald eyes locked with Alfred's blue ones, If the lad wanted to hear the whole story, then he would hear it.

"I gave them a small push in the right direction," he said, the smirk returning. "I made sure that they could rent the undercroft, and I helped them with the 36 barrels of gunpowder." Alfred stared at him now, seemingly in shock. "Someone did see me walk away from there once, but that was easily fixed. I gave Fawkes the cloak I had been wearing at that occasion, just in case." Calmly, Arthur stood and stretched as he stepped over to the window. "Really, who would suspect the nation itself? Not old James, at least. My only regret is that I was not there to take care of it all myself. I would have been much more careful than they were."

Alfred gulped and glanced at Francis, who now had a look of absolute disapproval on his face.

"I disliked some of my regents, _Angleterre_," growled the Frenchman. "That never meant that I attempted to kill them."

"French Revolution, frog," reminded Arthur with a lopsided grin. "Much later, but still relevant."

"_Non_, it most certainly is not!"

"They chopped his head off, if I remember right. You were cheering with your people, were you not?"

"That is utterly irrelevant!"

"Point is, you wanted him dead. We're the same in that aspect."

Alfred groaned loudly and rolled his eyes. He was not in the mood for one of their verbal spars at the moment, and Arthur had apparently not finished the story just yet.

"Hey, can you two stop being lovey-dovey for a while," he said sharply, earning disdainful glares from both of the older nations. "Can you finish the story, Iggy? If there's more to tell, that is. France said that you celebrate the death of a man."

Arthur took another moment of glaring at Alfred before he decided to continue.

"Fawkes was arrested, and tortured," he said slowly. "And once he revealed some names, they were all tried in Westminster Hall." A small smirk. "They were hanged, drawn and quartered. Or well, Fawkes was not. He jumped when he climbed the ladder to the gallows, and broke his neck in the fall. A real shame, that."

"You didn't like the king..." Alfred frowned. "You actually helped with the plot to kill the king, and yet you celebrate the fact that Guy Fawkes died?"

Arthur shrugged.

"He died for my sake," he replied. "I believe that loyalty to one's faith and country is something worth celebrating." He grinned. "That, and Fawkes was a rather amusing fellow. I believe he would have enjoyed the festivities."

Francis shook his head.

"I have had enough," he muttered. "Now you know the story, _Amérique_. If you have more questions for him, ask them one I have left the room."

He stood and promptly walked out. Silence lingered in the room, until Alfred coughed and tilted his head.

"So... Uhm... What was that about gunpowder?"

Arthur flashed a grin again.

"Last year's celebration," he said. "We spiced it up a little by acquiring two barrels of gunpowder. If there is ever an appropriate time for explosions, then it is on the fifth of November." His eyes twinkled. "You can come if you want. The more the merrier, as you know."

"Ah... Sorry, I... I have plans..." Alfred laughed nervously and began to back towards the door. "Really sorry, because it sounds awesome and all, but I really need to run now, bye!"

He hurried out. If there was ever a time to stay as far away as possible from the older nation, then it was absolutely right now. And maybe on the following day.

Arthur looked after him for a moment, and laughed softly.

"Ah, such a shame," he mumbled. "He would have loved the toffee apples... And the fireworks, of course..." He smiled wistfully. "Maybe next year, eh, Fawkes?"

* * *

**_Author's Note: Way too much dialogue in this... xD Anyway, I was inspired to write this thanks to a certain picture I found on deviantArt. It's short and not that well written, but it's something I found a bit funny. :P If you review, I shall be very happy and give you cookies!_**


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